Alone on a ship with 400
by Defender of the Dogma
Summary: This is based off the episode in Star Trek (The Paradise Syndrome) where Kirk is stuck with no memory on the planet that worships him as a God. Basically, Jim is stuck, and Spock didn't save him or blow up the asteroid that was threatening everybody. Bones said that for 4 months Spock didn't eat or sleep for guilt, and my inner writer exploded. Heavy angst; no slash.
1. Lost

**Chapter 1**

 **This is based off the episode in Star Trek (The Paradise Syndrome) where Kirk is stuck with no memory on the planet that worships him as a God. Basically, Jim is stuck, and Spock didn't save him or blow up the asteroid that was threatening everybody. Bones said that for 4 months Spock didn't eat or sleep for guilt, and my inner writer exploded. So here it is.**

 **The italics are quotes from the episode The Paradise Syndrome, Star Trek original series.**

 **Also: This is not a oneshot! There is more to come! Thank you for reading.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **(Quotes are copied down, and for some reason I can't put it in this story. ((+_+)) Sorry. But I don't own that either.**

 _Scott OC: The only thing that'll fix these poor darlings is the next repair base._

 _Spock: I've already summarized that. Thank you, Mr Scott._

 _McCoy: Well, Mr Spock, you took your calculated risk in your calculated Vulcan way, and you lost. You lost for us, you lost for the planet, and you lost for Jim._

 _Spock: I accept the responsibility, doctor._

 _McCoy: And my responsibility is the health of this crew. You've been driving yourself too hard, and I want you to get some rest._

 _Spock: Mister Chekov, resume heading eight eight three four mark one._

 _McCoy: Back to that planet? Without warp speed, it'll take months, Spock._

 _Spock: Exactly fifty nine point two two three days, doctor, and that asteroid will be four hours behind us all the way._

 _McCoy: Well then what's the use? We might be able to save the captain even if he is still alive. We might not be able to save anything, including this ship. You haven't heard a word I've said. All you've been doing is staring at that blasted obelisk._

 _Spock: Another calculated Vulcan risk, Doctor._

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That had been only a few hours ago. Spock buried his face in his hand, McCoy's words playing over and over in his head, taunting him.

" _You lost for us, you lost for the planet, and you lost for Jim." "You lost for us, you lost for the planet, and you lost for Jim." "You lost for us, you lost for the planet, and you lost for Jim."_

Yes. He had. Jim. Jim who was really the only friend he'd ever had. Yes, there was McCoy, but their relationship wasn't the same, and the doctor was sure to hate him now. Spock didn't blame the doctor. He hated himself too. Perhaps it was logical. After all, he had been given the responsibility of ensuring Jim's safety. And he had failed. Failed.

" _We might be able to save the captain even if he is still alive. We might not be able to save anything, including this ship."_

Not with Spock leading them, they wouldn't save him. Spock was painfully reminded of his 'first command'.

" _If any minor damage was overlooked, it was when they put his head together."_

" _Not his head, Mister Bomba his heart. His heart."_

Of course Spock had heard. Vulcan ears could pick up on things far beyond human range, certainly barely lowered voices from the inside of a shuttle craft. It was nothing new, of course.

All his life he had been told, if not with words but actions, that he was never supposed to exist. That he was a mistake, a failure. Vulcans were not supposed to have human blood. His purpose in life was to show that a Vulcan / Human hybrid could survive. Done. It had foolish and illogical of him to somehow think he could be more than the Vulcan reject who had been cast out from his family and shunned by his entire planet.

Jim… Jim had had a way of somehow convincing him that he was more. Spock turned his gaze back to the screen, the symbols remaining meaningless. Illogical though it was, he wished he could change the past. Wished he'd never joined starfleet, never done this to Jim.

Everyone would be so much better off had he stayed away. Any officer could what he did on this ship, and more. Another officer could truly befriend Jim, could give him the emotional release that humans seemed to so need. Spock could never do that. He was to Vulcan to ever be able to.

And yet Jim had befriended him anyway. He wondered how the man really felt about him. He'd always known that he shouldn't allow himself to become friends with the human, that it was illogical, but he couldn't help himself. Years of being alone had made him shamefully desperate for anyone who would care for him. And Jim had cared.

But now he was gone. Gone, because Spock had allowed the man to be captured or lost, or whatever else right in front of him. Spock knew that he should have been the one to be caught. His life was of no consequence, Jim's was.

Spock knew what he had done was unforgivable. McCoy hated him, along with the rest of the crew. And he deserved it. He had failed his captain. Reject. Failure. Worthless.


	2. Beginning

**Chapter 2**

Spock walked out to the bridge, keeping a tight reign over his emotions. "Mr Chekov, any new complications?"

"No sir. All normal."

"Very good." Spock sat down in the captain's chair; that might become so much more of a permanent fixture now.

"Captain's log, first officer Spock reporting. Star date 2822.91. The captain remains on planet. We have attempted to destroy the approaching asteroid with no success. We have lost the warp engines, and are at a constant four hours ahead of the asteroid. We are attempting to retrieve the captain, though we do not know if he lives. It seems highly improbable. I am in temporary command of the Enterprise." Spock handed back the little device to yeoman Anderson, and turned to face the viewport.

Space. Always before fascinating, now a reminder of what and who he had failed. No. No, he would not think like that. He was a Vulcan, he could control his emotions. He was stronger than that. He desperately pushed the emotions away; he must focus! He was of no help to Jim in emotional despair. Spock forced his attention to the symbols he'd called to the screen.

He was a Vulcan, and as such could focus on many different things at once. The majority of his energy he devoted to the study of the symbols. On another level he gave orders when needed, and signed the things that were handed to him. Spock could almost 'feel' the change in atmosphere. When Jim led, there was a certain... lightheartedness he believed terrans called it, to everything. Now it was tense.

Spock focused on the symbols through his shift, until lunch break came around. Rejecting the idea of food, Spock walked to his room, and stared at the symbols once more. Not Romulan. Not Vulcan. Not Terran. Not Heeran. Not Pynesian. Not Vilsnian. Spock suddenly had an idea. He ran the symbols through the computer. And… nothing. Unknown. He walked back into the hallways, still studying the symbols in his mind. He had, after all, memorized them perfectly. Spock began formulating ideas of how to decipher the markings. Perhaps he could show them to some professionals.

He decided to give a copy to Lieutenant Uhura. She knew many languages, and might be able to translate them. Also, she could pass around copies to others onboard the ship who would like to attempt to decipher the symbols. They would save Jim. No matter what.

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It was what counted as night on the Enterprise, but Spock wasn't asleep. Not when there were more important things to be done. Vulcans didn't need as much sleep as humans, after all, and these symbols needed to be studied. Spock was using the viewscreen to study the symbols; it was better, after all, it was preferable to see their actual forms. Spock emerged himself in the symbols, the pain in his heart never truly fading.

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Spock's inner clock chimed, and he stood. It was time to return the the bridge. He hadn't made any progress. Well, he had discovered a wide variety of things the symbols were not. Wonderful.

Spock made his way through the Enterprise's corridors. Jim was always early to the bridge. Spock would be precisely on time, just as always.

 **Authors note!**

 **Alright: so _major writing block!_ I am having a really hard time thinking of how I'm going to fill 4 months of this. HELP! Reviews! Reviews will make me more motivated to move on, and if you have suggestions that is even awesomer! Which is a word I just made up! Help!**


	3. Anger

**Chapter 3**

Spock walked off the bridge as soon as his shift was done. He didn't talk to anyone, and no one talked to him. When he walked through the hallway people looked away. Word spread fast. He hadn't saved Jim and he hadn't saved the Enterprise and everyone knew it. Spock was sure his normal life would be like this anyway if it weren't for Jim. Well maybe not the looking away part. But that would fade away soon enough he was sure. Soon the looks would be filled with disgust and hate. He knew. That was his life. That was what he deserved.

Spock continued walking forward, and as he was about halfway to his quarters an angry redshirt caught his eye. Ensign Michaels. Michaels took a step forward, hands clenched into fists. Spock stopped and stared evenly at the temperamental security officer. Michaels made as if to lunge forward, but stopped himself, his face growing the same color as his shirt, veins becoming more prominent. The hate was lightly veiled in his eyes. Finally he managed to wrench himself away from Spock, but the hate pouring off him in waves battered at the Vulcan's shields.

Spock's shields trembled. It was less because of the force of the man's rage than that Spock wasn't sure if he should protect himself from it.

By the time he reached his quarters he was exhausted. The force of the emotions toward him… this would be about the worst in that respect, Spock knew. While the hurt was fresh and the pain raw was when the emotions would pound the hardest. And after that… after that was the emptiness. The aloneness. The rejection. When people wouldn't even pay him their anger because he was under that. And somehow… that would be worse.

Spock shoved the thoughts away. They were illogical. He sat down and began studying the symbols. When it was time for his shift he left again, pulling his defences around him like a cloak. There was a positive connection with the bridge he felt; the bridge crew… well no one was attacking him. And he knew those people. That was good, in a way. But he knew the real reason was Jim. Jim wasn't there now, but Spock couldn't help walking just a little faster than normal, and when he walked onto the bridge and saw the empty chair he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed


	4. Wounded

**Chapter 4**

Spock could tell the bridge crew was angry. It was in the tenseness of their fingers, the hardness in their shoulders, the sets of their jaws. It was in the way Chekov never made eye contact, in the way Uhura's tone was pointed, was in the way Sulu's sentences were so shortened, in the way Scotty always stared at something over Spock's shoulder.

It was in the way no one laughed, and no one smiled. It was in the lack of jokes, of playful banter. And Spock didn't need to be telepathic to tell that no one wanted him there. And finally, because it was bound to happen eventually, someone got in trouble.

Them. There was a hostile ship attacking them, and without the ability to stop and fight (they had to stay ahead of the asteroid) they were in serious trouble. Spock managed to get the Enterprise to destroy a particularly fragmentable asteroid, the shattered pieces completely crippling the other ship, although the Enterprise had also suffered heavy damage.

By the time they were finished, Spock was gasping, green blood flowing from the wound in his side. He had saved the life of ensign Langard, but had not had time to move himself out of the way of the explosion as well. There was hurried motion around him, and the familiar sensation of being lifted onto a stretcher and hurried down the corridors into med bay. Even bleeding profusely his shields hurt from the disgust being directed his way.

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Spock was rushed into medbay, the well trained medical staff immediately rushing to stem the blood and save his life. McCoy was there almost immediately; Spock could hear him barking orders and commands even through the haze that had settled over his mind. Something familiar settled over him, and finally, relinquishing control to the pounding pain, weakness, and hate, he slipped into oblivion.

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When he woke again he was lying on one of the beds in med bay. There was no one nearby, but as his head cleared he could tell from the rhythmic beeping of the monitor that his stats were virtually back to normal. It wasn't as though he had the right to expect anyone to be around anyway. Spock tested out his body parts, flexing all over, and decided that there would be no permanent damage. Spock pointedly ignored the feeling that Jim should be there, or McCoy.

Spock ran over his mind, beginning to return things to order. Jim should be trying to break in. Spock should be able to return to acceptable mental health. McCoy should be hovering. Spock reached for meditation. There should be a message from Jim. Meditation proved impossible.


	5. Rejection

**Chapter 5**

Spock finally gave up on meditation when McCoy entered the room. The man was tight lipped, something was burning in his eyes. With Spock's weakened shields the something was easily identifiable. McCoy blamed Spock for Jim's loss, and rightly so.

Well, Mr Spock, you took your calculated risk in your calculated Vulcan way, and you lost. You lost for us, you lost for the planet, and you lost for Jim.

Yes. He had. Spock didn't meet McCoy's eyes. McCoy wrote something down on his datapad.

"How do you feel Mr Spock."

"I am adequate. I am quite able to return for duty."

"Fine." McCoy wrote a few things more down. "I'm taking your word for it and releasing you for duty."

Spock inwardly blinked in confusion. McCoy was letting him go? That was… unusual. Then it occurred to Spock that perhaps McCoy simply didn't care about him anymore. But… he didn't quite want to go. Not back to where people hated him and wanted to hurt him. At least here there were less people. And… his shields weren't totally up yet. He should stay… it was logical… he had no right.

Spock sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and straightened. He went to the med bay supply room and retrieved a uniform. Taking the uniform he left to change. McCoy wasn't even still in the room.

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Spock walked onto the bridge and relieved Mr Sulu from his temporary command. Spock shoved away the thought that his own personal command may turn far less temporary.

"Mr Sulu, status report?"

"Decks 5, 6, 9, 11, and 13 have sustained damage. 14 deaths and 21 wounded."

Spock didn't close his eyes. He didn't sigh. He was a Vulcan. There was nothing he could do for them. Just like...You lost for us, you lost for the planet, and you lost for Jim. Spock shoved away the doctors taunting words, and forced himself into calm. "Thank you, Mr Sulu."

Sulu didn't respond. Spock wished he had. The shift passed. Ended. Spock had made no more progress. He walked up to Lieutenant Uhura.

"Lieutenant."

She looked up at him. There had been many instances with which she had flirted with him, asking about Vulcan's moon and such. There were no such feelings coming from her now. Her normally warm personality was cold and hard. It illogically felt as though someone was squeezing Spock's heart.

"I have compiled the symbols on the obelisk where the captain disappeared, along with the progress I have made." Spock handed the Lieutenant a data card. "If there is anyone else you wish to share this information with I have no objections. This information may be had by anyone."

She nodded crisply at him. "Is that all sir?"

"That is all Lieutenant." The beta shift crew people were filing in now, and Spock allowed Uhura to enter the turbolift by herself as the new shift took their positions. Spock pretended to be momentarily occupied before stepping into the turbolift. There was no need to force his presence on Lieutenant Uhura, after all.


	6. Pain

**Chapter 6**

As Spock walked down the hall conversation stilled. A few people wouldn't even look at him. He didn't quite blame them.

His quarters were becoming more and more of a refuge against the world. As he entered and pulled up the obelisk signs he realized he hadn't eaten since Jim had been lost. He brushed it off. He was a Vulcan. There was no need for him to eat.

 _"Spock I know you're Vulcan but you need to eat too."_ Yes Jim I know. Spock mentally responded to the phantom voice. _"Spock come on, there's no logic in hurting yourself. Eat, it won't hurt you."_ Perhaps not, Jim. _"Spock…"_

Spock shoved away the voice. It was illogical and distracting. Indulging in fantasies was illogical of him. Only the symbols mattered. His fingers dug into his palm. The pain helped him focus.

It wasn't long before his injuries started acting up again. He wasn't completely healed; it was nothing a light healing trace wouldn't fix. He didn't have time for a healing trance.

Spock was in more pain when the night was halfway done. He finally conceded that the pain had reached levels where he normally focused it away. So he began. Pain was of the mind, the mind… and yet. Did he deserve that control? Perhaps… perhaps this is what he should have. Perhaps… perhaps he did not deserve freedom from pain. It was not so much pain anyway. He would allow it to continue. It would sharpen his focus.

Perhaps Jim was in pain now. Perhaps this could be some of Spock's atonement.


	7. Michaels

Chapter 7

Spock was walking through the Enterprise towards the bridge, when something clouted him on the side of the head. Not hard enough to knock him unconscious, but to hard to be undeliberate.

"Why don't you go back to the hole you crawled out of?" ensign Michaels demanded. "We don't want you here you murderer! You don't have any place with humans!"

Spock turned slowly, ears pricked for the sound of any other hurtling objects, and faced Michaels. "Ensign Michaels, assaulting a superior officer is a type 3 offence."

"You aren't superior to anyone! How can you just stand there you killed him! You murdered him! You don't have any place here!"

"Ensign Michaels, kindly report to officer Giotto, and inform him of everything that has happened."

"No I won't report, you green blooded freak…"

"Don, come on you better go." ensign Camrey had come over, and was taking Michaels's arm calmingly.

"But I…"

"The captain wouldn't stand to see us brawling like this."

Michaels trembled with anger, eyes burning. "Fine. But you watch your back freak. I'm coming for you."

Camrey looked over at Spock and shook his head heatedly, as if to tell Spock that Michaels wouldn't really do anything to serious. He lead Michaels away, and Spock continued forward. What else could he do?


	8. What is and isn't Undeserved

**Chapter 8**

Spock sat in the command chair (not his it would never be his), and felt the stabbing pain grow worse. Spock tried halfheartedly to push it away, before feeling something akin to anger rise in his chest. What was he thinking, trying to relieve pain from _himself_ , when he had abandoned Jim to whatever horrors might now encompass him? Spock _grabbed_ at the pain, in a way only Vulcan's could, and forced it to increase in intensity. He didn't gasp in pain. He didn't deserve it. The pain blinded him from everything else, tearing at him, hurting him, before he let it go, inwardly gasping for breath from the terrible pain, outwardly unaffected. He could afford to be nothing else.

All his life he'd been forced into being the perfect Vulcan. Logical, unemotional, perfect. Never mind no one held the same standards to pure blooded Vulcans; the standards were only ever there for _him_. There was never any other option. And he'd done his best, knowing that inherently he was worthless, as valuable only as what he produced. And then there had been Jim. Jim had accepted him instantly, seemingly never wanting anything in return. It was unprecedented, and Spock didn't understand it.

But just because he hadn't understood it didn't mean he hadn't accepted it. He had dedicated himself to Jim, offered everything that he was, and it wasn't enough, he'd always known it wasn't enough. There was no reason for Jim to care for him. But he did, and because of that Spock owed Jim his everything. And then he'd left him behind, doomed, perhaps, to die, and on top of that had failed in their mission leaving the _Enterprise_ virtually helpless. He had failed so badly… he was a failure. There could be no other explanation for it. No other explanation for how he could manage to take his one light in the universe and so utterly fail, compromising everything that was ever important to that light. If Jim eternally hated him after this, Spock would understand. Spock would have understood even had this not transpired. Jim deserved so much better.

Spock didn't reach back for the pain, though. Instead he slowly pushed it aside, lessening his agony. Would that truly be what Jim would want? For Spock to torture himself so? Spock couldn't bring himself to cause Jim pain, and surely that would happen should Spock cause himself such harm. Spock sank back into the Vulcan logic and rationality he was so accustomed too, but even then there was a hole in the cloak, a burning sliver that stabbed into his heart. But it was small, and thin, and easy to ignore. Spock forced his attention forward, and did not let himself slip again.


	9. Telepathy's Scream

**Chapter 9**

Spock stayed wrapped in his normal Vulcan shield. He moved, he gave orders, he oversaw the repairs from their brief encounter with the hostiles, he never ate. Certainly never slept. It was unnecessary. Everything was seeming unnecessary lately. It was as if he didn't care about anything anymore. He wasn't sure why. Spock signed a report, handing it to the black haired yeoman, and walked through the halls. Decks 5 and 13 were finished with repairs, and 6 should be finished by the end of the day. 9 and 11 would take longer, but they would be finished within satisfactory timing.

There was a matter of communicating with a Porrin ambassador, slighted by some matter with his planetary neighbors, the Thrax. That would be best handled by Lieutenant Uhura based on her linguistics and diplomacy skills, Spock decided. This would leave him free to deal with admiralty's protests against the flagship spending 2 months doing essentially nothing in space. However if he simply utilized his knowledge of logic and of Starfleet's rule manual, he should be able too…

Spock stopped cold, his leg hitting a table in his room. He'd been to enveloped to notice… the chess set. The chess set before him. They had been in the middle of a game, Spock remembered.

 _"Knight to B3."_

 _"Why Mister Spock, you aren't getting predictable are you? Queen to A7."_

 _"Never, Captain. Rook to A5."_

 _"Wha…"_

Spock choked, the memories rising. The datapad slid from his fingers. He hardly heard it fall. He fell forward, gripping the table with both hands, head bowed, memories pouring at him from all sides. Gasping softly, he crumpled to his knees. Jim… Jim was gone. Jim was gone. Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone…

The words forced themselves into Spock's head, tearing at his mind and heart until he couldn't bear it anymore. Jim was gone. It was all his fault. He didn't deserve to live, but he couldn't abandon Jim either. Spock wanted to hurt himself then, more badly than he ever had in his life. But if that was discovered then Spock would be forced off of command, and he could do nothing to help Jim then. So he didn't.

But that didn't mean he couldn't hurt his mind. No one else on the _Enterprise_ was telepathic. No one would know. Spock reached out, and sliced viciously. Gasping he fell to his knees. He tore at his mind, pain ripping through him, beyond anything he can control. Spock forced it deeper, flaying into himself, there would be no permanent damage but he _needed_ this pain. _Deserved_ it. Sobbing quietly he felt himself shatter, needed to shatter. Broken broken broken he was broken, and this was what he deserved. He just wanted Jim back. Jim… He knew he was about to break. A final stab of searing white hot pain sliced through his mind, and the pain stopped.

He crumpled against the ground, leaning against the table. Jim… Jim would not want him to do this. He would never want this. Broken, Spock breathed. Listened to his heartbeat. How it centered in his head and neck. He couldn't do this again. Never again. Forcing himself to his feet he felt as though Jim was there, behind him, chastising him.

 _"Spock why would you do this? Spock please, this isn't safe, this isn't healthy."_

"And you." Spock murmured. "Are a product of my imagination, and therefore have no sway in my life."

 _"Spock, please…"_

"Desist! Leave, go! I do not want you! I want Jim!"

Spock recognised that raising his voice against a product of his imagination did not speak highly of his mental health. Shuddering, he pulled himself away from the image, and wished Vulcans were allowed to cry. It didn't seem to make much of a difference either way.


End file.
